Just the thought of that monster having a good life after slaughtering his little nephew and maiming his surgeon brother made Alejandro’s head pound and his ears throb. He shook his head and took deep breaths to lower his heart rate and calm down. The throbbing remained. He looked around. It wasn’t his heart that was pounding, it was drums. And they were coming closer.
Tio rushed up to the cabin and pointed to a crowd of people coming down the hillside, their faces illuminated by flickering lights. “Who the hell are they?”
“I have no idea.” Alejandro turned to yell for the men to grab their arms, when Sister Teresa materialized at his side.
“Oh. My. God.” She breathed. “I told them to stay away.”
“Who?”
“The other Tarahumara. I told them we’d handle this.”
The drumming came closer accompanied by a din of violins, accordions, and shouting. What were they shouting? No, it was singing. “How did they find us?”
“The sixth man who came with me, the youngest, was supposed to go home and stay there. Keep his mouth shut. He must have told everyone in the valley.” Sister Teresa sighed and shook her head. “It’s a tesguinada. A beer drinking party. Julio’s been brewing that beer for a week in preparation for planting corn on his rancho. They must have decided to bring it here to thank you for agreeing to save their girls. Odd. Usually they have a party after someone does them a favor, not before.” She glanced up at Alejandro, her brow creased. “They have tesguino at everything except funerals. They must think you and your men might not come back alive.”
If he followed his handler’s orders, the Tarahumara could be right. There had to be a way to stop Armageddon. But how? If he didn’t make the call, he’d be insubordinate and get demoted, or worse. If he did make the call, all hell would break loose, and the only people left standing would be wearing ATFE Kevlar vests. He had to think of something, or Sister Teresa’s prediction could come true.
Illuminated by the flickering campfires, bobbing flashlights, and waving lanterns, the crowd of colorfully dressed villagers appeared in the center of the campsite, looking like a surrealistic painting of a carnival lost in the wilderness. A burro brayed, and then another and another, in what seemed to be a chorus of complaints about the weight of the barrels strapped to their backs.
Alejandro bit his lower lip. His shoulders and belly shook with suppressed mirth.
Sister Teresa glared at him. “It’s not funny.”
No, it wasn’t funny. It was ridiculous. Absurd. Fellini-esque. How would he describe this in his debriefing? How would he tell his real bosses that in the middle of nowhere, in the midst of the most complicated US-Mexico law enforcement operation ever planned, he had hosted an Indian beer drinking party?
****
Angie sat on the front porch of the little cabin, sipped a cup of scorched coffee, and watched the natives pass around gourds of beer. An old woman had approached her earlier in the evening and offered her a drink. She’d frowned, mimed throwing up, and the woman had backed off. Apparently, Angie had found the universal sign for “I’m-gonna-hurl-if-I-drink-that.” After that, the singing dancing crowd left her alone. It was just as well, she wasn’t feeling very sociable.
Alejandro, on the other hand, was in the thick of things, hanging with his gigantic buddies, Tio and Pepe, swapping war stories. In the old days, she would have been the life of the party, provided the host offered good booze and hard drugs. Now she observed the celebration as if watching a National Geographic special—except this was one she could reach out and touch. Had she been a sociologist or an anthropologist, she would have thought she’d died and gone to heaven. Instead, she kept thinking, I need to sleep. When will this party be over and how can we make these people go home?
Vodka bottle clutched in her hand, Isabel sauntered over to the stoop and plunked down beside Angie. “Welcome to the other Mexico, chica.” She raised the bottle, took a swig, and nodded toward the natives. “Wait till you get home and tell Sarah about your trip. She’s gonna split a gut laughing when you tell her about tonight.”
In spite of her annoyance at the fiesta in front of her, Angie smiled. “You’re right. She sees the humor in the strangest situations.”
“It’s her way of dealing. She could make me laugh so hard, I spit coffee out at faculty meetings.” Isabel shrugged. “I really miss her. She was a good colleague and friend. The kids loved her. They still ask for Auntie Sarah. Want to know when she’s going to come visit them.”
“I can’t believe how nice she’s been to me.” Angie shook her head. “She’s amazingly forgiving. Most women would have never accepted me and Jake, much less welcomed us into the family. She even organized his first birthday party.”
“To Sarah,” Isabel raised the bottle and clanked Angie’s coffee cup. “And her baby—girl? Boy?”
“She wanted to be surprised.”
“Well, I hope she’s not surprised with twins, or worse yet, triplets.” Isabel laughed. “My girls are adorable, but a handful. Ramon is an angel compared to Ruby and Sherry.”
“I think Sarah would manage, no matter how many kids she had.”
“You’re right about that.” Isabel gestured to the noisy beer drinking party. “You know, this isn’t what you usually see in the evening news in the United States about Mexico. These people were here before the Spanish arrived. The ancient culture of the Tarahumara, how they live, what they have to do to scrape out a living in the Sierra Madre, those aren’t newsworthy. Killings in Juarez, blood baths in Sinaloa, and corruption in high places, those are the top stories.”
The smell of wood smoke filled the cool desert air, and someone played a tune on a violin. “I don’t watch much TV. Too busy with my job and my son.” Angie chewed on her lower lip. “I never wanted that freaking lunatic anywhere near my kid. Now he has him twenty-four seven. I was hoping Jake would have the childhood I never had.”
“We have that much in common, chica. My father was an abusive son of a bitch.” Isabel glanced around and said in a husky whisper. “Did your father ever touch you, you know, the wrong way?”
Angie’s stomach swooped, turned over, and roiled. Bile rose up in her throat. She closed her eyes, took deep cleansing breaths, and tried to erase the jerky images of him coming into her room in the middle of the night, putting his hand over her mouth, and telling her to keep her mouth shut if she knew what was good for her. Her hands shook so hard, hot coffee spilled out of the tin cup and scalded her thighs. She welcomed the pain, embraced it, and walked through to the other side.
“Yes.”
“Me, too. Disgusting pig used to come into my room every night.” A tear trickled down the brunette’s cheek. “When he was done, he’d tell me to brush my teeth and go kiss my mother good night. The bitch knew exactly what was going on.”
“It’s not fair.” Angie fought to control her emotions, to keep them in check, to be in charge of her life. “We didn’t cause it, we couldn’t cure them, and we couldn’t control them. They enjoy their power trips over their victims. They’re predators.”
“Were predators.”
Angie thought she misheard the other woman. “My father’s still alive. At least until I can get my hands on him. Then he’s a dead man.”
“Done and done. My mother, too.” The Latina sipped her vodka. “Pious bitch knew the entire time, knew exactly what he was doing, and turned a blind eye.”
The stars began to pinwheel in the clear night sky, and Angie’s breath came in short puffs. She pressed her fingers against her eyelids to slow her racing heart.
Stop. Stay calm. Stop the memories. Close the door. Put the sheet rock over it. Nail it in place. Now paint over it with white paint. Seal all the cracks along the edges.
But the wall, once held in place with alcohol and drugs, cracked and shattered under the sledgehammer of truth. No matter how frantically she worked at pushing the barricade back, she couldn’t rebuild it. Recollections of her mother’s betrayal erupte
d in the here and now.
She remembered not sleeping the rest of that night, the night of her father’s first nocturnal visit. After he left, she sobbed into her pillow, wishing she was dead. He had hurt her so much, she didn’t know if she’d be able to walk again. The next morning when her mother came into her room to get her up for the day’s work, Angie had told her mother what happened, showed her the bloody sheets, the marks on her arms.
Instead of rising to her daughter’s defense, protecting her only child, she had recited bible verses about the woman’s role as the “weaker vessel.” When Angie protested, her mother scolded her and told her to stop crying. “Go wash your face in cold water. No one wants to hear your ugly lies. Get to work.”
Bits and pieces of that time flew back into her memory. She was missing something. Where did she last see her golden-haired friend? When did Janice disappear? Then it hit her like a punch in the gut. Her mother told her that same morning that Janice was gone, and she had to do her work, too. Two months later, she found the girl’s body.
“She knew.”
Isabel nodded. “Unbelievable isn’t it? A mother is supposed to protect her child, lay down her life if needs be. What kind of woman allows her husband to rape her daughter night after night and blames the girl?”
A pathological liar who’d do anything for her husband, even sacrifice her daughter’s innocence. Someone who knew that Janice was dead, that she hadn’t run away. That she’d been murdered.
“A sociopath.”
The brunette nodded and flicked a tear off her cheek. “Exactly.”
Using the name of the Lord to justify everything she did, claiming He told her to do this, that Father had seen it in a vision. Her mother had built Angie’s life on a foundation of lies, taught her daughter that women were chattel, not worthy. Had it not been for Janice, she would have never known that there was another reality. She would have never dared to think for herself, to plot her escape, and fly away on her own wings of truth.
“Twisting words, hiding behind bible verses.”
Isabel’s head jerked up, and she frowned at Angie. “I was talking about my mother. Who were you talking about?”
“My mother.” Angie exchanged a long stare with the other woman. “Now what?”
The Latina raised an eyebrow. “Are you serious about getting your son back? Are you ready to take control? To do what I did?”
“What’s that?”
“If you ever want to have another moment of peace in your life, you have to kill them. Kill them both.”
Chapter Eighteen
Something scratched at the bedroom door. Zeke’s hair stood on end. His watch said two hours had passed since he barricaded the entry, but what if the evil one had made time jump forward? Right now, that could be her scraping her talons on the door. He closed his eyes, took deep breaths, and prayed for the evil one to go away.
“Father? Are you in there?”
“Miriam, thank the good Lord it’s you. I thought it was that monster.” He threw the door open and saw the now human appearing girl standing next to wife. He stepped back and clutched his chest. “Get thee behind me, Satan.”
His wife frowned. “Who are you talking to?”
“That creature, that demon.” He averted his eyes and pointed to his leg. “See what she did to me?”
“Father, all I see is some dirt on your pant leg.”
“She sliced my leg wide open.” He stared down at his trousers. “There was blood everywhere.”
Miriam took his chin in her hand and turned his head until he looked her in the eye. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Make her go away,” he whimpered. “She’s in league with the devil.”
“You must be having those visions again.”
Something about the way she said “visions” gave him pause. Was she smirking at him? Yes, her lips were definitely quirked and there was a defiant gleam in her eye. She was hiding something from him.
“Send the girl back to the Crèche. I don’t want her.”
Miriam turned and shooed the girl away in rudimentary Spanish.
“What the hell is the matter with you? I send you the pick of the litter, and you turn into a babbling idiot.”
With her erect back, hands on hips and biting criticism, Miriam was not behaving the way she should. She was his wife, the weaker vessel.
“How dare you speak that way to me?” He raised his hand to strike her.
“You put one hand on me, so help me God, I will kill you.”
“Who are you? You’re not my wife.”
“I’m tired of being your punching bag. It’s about time you gave me some respect.” She took two steps closer and color rose in her face. “Who saved you from Janice? I did.”
He opened his mouth to protest. Beating his lover to death with a shovel was murder, not a rescue, but he thought better of disagreeing with her. He didn’t see any weapons in her hand, but who knew what she might have hidden in her pockets?
“Who got you out of prison? Me, it was my plan—from you faking a heart attack, right up to my parking outside the hospital.”
She poked him on the shoulder.
“Who called the daycare center so you could go pick up Jake? I did.”
Realization of the real traitor came to him. Shaking with rage, he shouted, “You. You’re the Judas. You fed me peyote. You’re the one responsible for my terrible hallucinations. You’re the only person who could have planted it in my food or water.”
Miriam backed away from him.
He had her. “You are guilty, guilty, guilty, it’s written on your face.”
“You’re insane, old man.”
“I don’t know how, but you did.”
“I wasn’t even here the first time you hallucinated.”
“You could have laced my toothpaste.”
“You have no right leading this group.”
At last her real agenda was revealed.
“You want to be in charge?”
How dare she? She was a woman.
“I’m not the one hallucinating and hiding in my bedroom, shaking in my shoes.”
He’d seen how his followers looked at her when she held the Chosen One. They adored her as if she were the Virgin Mary. He had to think fast. He needed her to take care of Jake, to ensure his power base. The child was key in his plans.
“Miriam, I need you. I can’t live without you.”
She gave him a stony stare. He had to reach her. The child. She loved the boy.
“Jake needs you.”
“Your prophesies about the Chosen One convinced people to give up their homes, their money, their careers—to be here with him in End Days.” She drew her shoulders back. “He’s here and he bonded with me. Not with you. He’s mine, you understand? Mine.”
“He’s attached to you, it’s obvious.” He paused. “Jake likes Sister Rose, too.”
Her eyes bore a hole in his skull. “She’s not his grandmother. Blood binds us.”
“You’re right. She could never replace you.” He nodded and took her hand in his. “No one could. You’re the only woman I’ve ever truly loved.”
She frowned. “What about Janice?”
“She meant nothing to me.”
“And our daughter?”
His stomach plummeted. “I d-d-don’t understand.”
He stalled for time. Think, man, what did she want him to tell her?
“Angie told me you came into her room every night after Janice left.”
“I’m so ashamed. My flesh was weak.” He looked his wife right in the eye. “She seduced me.”
“I knew it." A tear trickled down her cheek. “To think I almost felt sorry for her.”
“My love, please, let’s forget our quarrel. We need to present a united front.”
She sniffed and nodded. “You’re right. The others can’t see us this way.”
He was back in control. “Exactly, they will divide us and conquer.”
“
You won’t hit me?”
“I swear, I’ll never touch you in anger again.”
Miriam’s face softened. “Okay, Father.”
Relief washed over him.
“One more thing.” She placed her hand on his cheek.
“Yes?”
“Tell the congregation I’m in charge when you’re not available.”
“What? That won’t—”
“Do it, or I’ll tell them all about your new ‘visions’.”
Just as Zeke opened his mouth to respond, the former Sheriff of Wicomico County rushed into their chambers.
“Father, come quickly,” the red-faced man wheezed. “We need you up top, right now.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Look outs spotted a bunch of Indians out by the solar panels. They must have been searching for them girls. We shot two, killed ’em. But three got away.”
****
The sun was setting when Alejandro observed three Tarahumaran men running into camp, their once pristine white loin cloths splattered with mud. He joined the throng of Mexicans and Indians surrounding the runners. As he got closer to the trio, he realized that what he initially thought was mud was dried blood. He spotted Sister Teresa. Tears streamed down her face. “What happened?”
Choking back a sob, the nun translated for the scouts. “They watched Edmondsville from afar, saw five lookouts. Didn’t see any weapons. They decided to get closer, actually got into the compound. The next thing they knew, bullets were flying.” She took a deep shuddering breath. “Two of the men are dead.”
He shook his head. “Sorry, Sister.”
She didn’t respond. She held a weeping Indian woman and whispered soothing words. A wife? Mother? No matter. There was a hole ripped in the fabric of their society. When one person in their community died, everyone grieved.
Towering over the native people, Isabel strode up to Alejandro and the nun.
“What the hell is going on?”
Alejandro filled her in. “The crazies will be on high alert now. Forget the stealth attack. We might as well go for a full frontal assault.”
Obsession Page 18
